


nothing left to do when you've got to go on waiting (for the miracle to come)

by pearwaldorf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, ambiguous ending, episode 113 spoilers, i'm going to go a little nuts waiting for next week ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: She finds herself standing on a sigil burned into a wooden floor. There is a young female gnome next to her, dressed similarly to her and the other figure. Cassandra looks up to see a wan Gilmore, sweating profusely and breathing hard.





	nothing left to do when you've got to go on waiting (for the miracle to come)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Leonard Cohen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thm4Gw63lbw)

Cassandra remembers only the flash of a portal opening, a hand over her mouth, and being pulled in. When she comes to, she’s lying on the ground, a small armored shape with wings(? She must be more out of it than she thought) standing above her. There is conversation above her, but too low to make out the words. 

She is pressed close to a body, then another one, smaller than the first. The bigger body smells familiar, but not in a way she can place at the moment. And then her body tingles. It feels a little like when she ventured too close to the magical dragon barrier in Whitestone, the way it makes her skin prickle and hair stand up. 

After a moment, she is released, and she finds herself standing on a sigil burned into a wooden floor. There is a young female gnome next to her, dressed similarly to her and the other figure. Cassandra looks up to see a wan Gilmore, sweating profusely and breathing hard. 

“Well ladies, we made it. We're safe, for the moment.” He makes as if to move and stops, grimacing. The black robes hid it well, but there's a big wet spot on his chest. 

“You're hurt! Gilmore, what happened?” She tries to get him to lean against her, but she’s so weak she can barely support herself. 

“Who’re you?” The female gnome asks, looking at both of them warily. Her accent is lyrical, fluid. “And where the fuck are we?” 

“That is a good question.” Cassandra sinks to the floor cautiously. The gnome and Gilmore follow suit. Gilmore’s breathing continues to labor, and Cassandra wonders if she should try and find help. 

A door flies open, and a female half-elf in thick spectacles rushes in, stopping when she sees the three of them on the floor. Her eyes start to glisten as she wrings her hands.

“Gilmore! Where have you been, I was worried sick! I was about to call the guard and organize a search and--”

“Good to see you too, Sherri.” Gilmore’s voice is fond, and most importantly, calm. “Can you please find us a healer? We’re in a bit of a state at the moment.” 

“Yes, yes, of course.” The door closes, and Gilmore kind of deflates, as if the effort of projecting assurance was more than he really should have taken on. 

The gnome turns to look at Cassandra and Gilmore. “Since it looks like we’re not going to die in the very near future, I’m asking again. Who the fuck are you, and where are we?”

“Lady Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo, Guardian of Woven Stone, head of the Council of Whitestone,” she says coolly. 

The gnome does not seem impressed, but there is a flicker of recognition. “So you’re the sister, then. I suspected with the hair, but as soon as you opened your mouth, I knew.” Despite herself, Cassandra snorts.

“I am Gilmore, proprietor of this fine establishment we are currently sitting in.” He tries to bow, and finds that is a bad idea. Cassandra tries to steady him, and he smiles at her, grateful.

“Now that you know who we are, who might you be, young miss?” Cassandra asks.

The gnome looks up at her. “Probably way older than you, but I’ll ignore that. I’m Kaylie.” She pauses. “Kaylie Shorthalt, I guess.” 

“You’re the daughter, then.” Cassandra keeps her face carefully expressionless.

Kaylie laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “You got me. It’s not like Da and I have known each other for very long. We’re making a go of it. Being partners in crime and counterfeit antiques helps.” Her tone is breezy, but there’s something underneath. 

They sit there for a little while, not talking, waiting for Sherri to come back. Kaylie’s sniffle is loud, and she rubs at her eyes angrily. Cassandra hands her a handkerchief, and Kaylie murmurs her thanks.

“I spent the first two decades of my life thinking about how I’d kill my father if I ever met him, did you know that?” Cassandra and Gilmore shake their heads. “I’m not going to say it’s been all sunshine and rainbows, but he’s my Da. And he left, again, and I don’t know if he’s going to be back.” Kaylie’s voice wobbles, and Cassandra reaches out for her hand. Kaylie looks a little surprised, but curls her fingers around it nonetheless.

“Nor do I not relish the thought of being the last de Rolo once again. Five years of that was enough.” Kaylie squeezes Cassandra’s hand sympathetically, and it does help to have somebody know what it’s like. 

“I think you may underestimate our intrepid friends, my doves.” Gilmore chuckles, as if the possibility they might not come back was absurd. “They have done the impossible, over and over again. What’s another time?” 

“I hope you’re right,” Kaylie grumbles. 

“My judgement is impeccable.” He says it so confidently Cassandra and Kaylie both laugh at it, which seems to be the intended effect. He opens his arms. “Now come here, and we can do this together.” They nestle against him, and settle in. They all have waited for so long. A little more time can’t hurt.


End file.
